


oh please, give me mercy no more

by disgruntled_lesbian



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alpha Boba Fett, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Courting Jewelry, Courting Rituals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Omega Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29150328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_lesbian/pseuds/disgruntled_lesbian
Summary: din falls apart after his life crumbles away, and boba fett helps pick up the pieces.“i was beroya.” he whispers, voice low and wrecked from crying, as if that was all he needed to say in order to explain the lack of courting jewelry and piercings.boba raises an eyebrow, humming in response. he knows that the man’s covert clung to the old ways, understands the harsh creed, but is still confused. to be beroya is to be mandalorian, protector, provider, an honor —“i couldn’t be beroya and omega,”
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 25
Kudos: 346





	1. Chapter 1

boba sits on the boarding ramp to his ship, leaning on his blaster rifle— he isn’t entirely sure what went down on the light cruiser while he was circling it in the  _ slave i _ , but none of it smells good. he shoots a glance at fennec as they come into view, arching an eyebrow that makes it clear he’ll demand answers later. 

what he does know is this: the  _ ad,  _ the foundling is nowhere to be seen, the mando — _ djarin _ , is bare-faced, buy’ce tucked under his arm as tears stream down his face. the  _ jetti _ is gone, stench lingering, and kryze paces around the docking bay like she’s ready to kill djarin, barely restraining herself from attacking him. underneath the heavy stench of angry alpha oozing from kryze and the new republic marshal, boba can smell something unexpected. 

the faint scent of distressed omega, dulled by layers of scent suppressants and an almost  _ artificial _ alpha scent that lays sour on boba’s tongue. he scans the returning party for the source—only to get hit with a wave of  _ grief shame shame sick _ omega as djarin pushes past him, disappearing into the  _ slave i _ . 

boba lets him go, standing up behind him to block kryze from following djarin inside. “step aside,  _ princess _ .” he snarls, annoyed that she ever thought she would be welcome back on his ship. kryze turns on her heel and stalks off, one of her owls spitting on the boarding ramp by boba’s feet. boba looks at him, and scoffs. he stands his ground, one hand on his blaster as fennec and the marshal transfer an unconscious gideon onboard to be sealed in carbonite below. 

the scent of distress and grief is overwhelming inside the ship, and it’s this that boba follows after the autopilot confirms a path to navarro. he climbs through his ship, making his way up to the bunks. he finds djarin curled up on the floor in the hallway. the man is stripped down to his kute, the beskar piled on the floor next to him, buy’ce fallen to the side. most of the artificial alpha scent has dissipated, leaving the space filled with the thick scent of grief. djarin doesn’t acknowledge boba’s presence, staring blankly at the wall in front of him as he trembles. placing his buy’ce on the ground next to djarin’s, boba kneels, shielding the younger man from the door with his body as he presses his forehead to din’s in a keldabe kiss. the skin-to-skin touch breaks something in djarin, and he whines—boba’s seen this kind of skin-hunger before, remembers himself when the slightest gentle touch felt overwhelming. he feels din shake uncontrollably with the gentlest touch— _ when was the last time he’s been touched without the threat of violence, _ boba wonders—the younger man desperate for something he doesn’t think he deserves. boba’s knees ache from kneeling on the floor, but he pulls djarin into his arms. 

“i just let him go.” djarin sobs, pressing his face into boba’s shoulder. “i — i just let him go — the  _ jetti  _ — there’s  _ nothing  _ — not mandalor’, no clan,  _ ad, ad, ad _ —” he keens, words tumbling out of his mouth. boba files that away to be dealt with later. but for now, there’s nothing boba can say that will lessen the grief, and he rocks back and forth slowly, as much as he can on his knees, keeping one hand tangled in djarin’s hair. after a while, when djarin seems to have cried himself out for the moment, boba pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead to djarin’s. 

"c'mon, my knees aren’t the best anymore." he mutters, pulling djarin up and herding him down the hall to boba’s bunk, keeping one hand on djarin at all times, the other holding djarin’s buy’ce. 

boba’s bunk is the largest on the ship, which isn’t saying much, but he’s carved the space to suit him well. there is just enough room for the two men to stand, and djarin looks so lost, like an abandoned foundling, his eyes red rimmed and empty. he doesn’t move until boba prompts him, nudging him to the bed. boba kneels, and kriffing hell it’s rough on his knees after the day he’s had, but he kneels to take djarin’s boots off so he can wrap blankets around djarin, running a hand through the other man’s hair. he focuses on exuding calming alpha pheromones as he strips to his own kute, tucking both of their armor on the set of shelves under the bunk. 

“your covert kept the old customs,” boba says, once djarin has curled up under the blankets, leaving just enough space for boba to perch on the side of the bed. djarin’s ears are pierced, but almost completely bare, and boba traces a finger above his ear. djarin whines, reaching out to grab boba before he seems to realize what he’s doing and pulls back, curling up near the wall.  _ shame shame guilt _ overwhelms his scent. boba sighs, kicking off his own boots before he climbs into the bunk, pressing his body against djarin’s. 

“you don’t wear courting jewelry.” all that djarin wears are two small studs of dull metal, not even temporary hoops or a cuff. he feels the other man shrug as he wriggles so he can face boba, clinging tightly to boba as if the alpha would disappear. 

“i was beroya.” he whispers, voice low and wrecked from crying, as if that was all he needed to say in order to explain the lack of courting jewelry and piercings. 

boba raises an eyebrow, humming in response. he knows that the man’s covert clung to the old ways, understands the harsh creed, but is still confused. to be _beroya_ is to be mandalorian, protector, provider, an honor —

“i couldn’t be beroya and omega,” djarin pulls back the collar of his kute to reveal scars from hastily cauterized wounds on his neck, covering the skin where a traditional claiming bite might have gone. it’s a sickening sight, the scar tissue twisted around his shoulder, covering the scent glands there. boba’s protective instincts scream at the sight, imaging all too well the stench of burning skin, the pain that comes with the sensitive skin, the incomplete sensory memory of the scar tissue. he traces a hand absentmindedly over the scars left on his head from the sarlacc, he knows that all too well. 

boba takes a deep breath, counting as he releases it, determined to stay calm. the last thing the ad’ika needs is to be overwhelmed by angry alpha pheromones, even if boba would like to tear his way through the galaxy to find whoever did this.he comes back to himself as din sighs, collapsing against boba, his eyes closed. the omega is wrung out and exhausted, dark circles seemingly tattooed under his eyes, the emotions of the day taking a toll on him. adrenaline gone, din falls asleep quickly, and boba runs a hand through the other man’s hair. 

“sleep.” he murmurs, pulling djarin  _ din, ad’ika _ closer to him. “ _ sleep.”  _ he settles in to lightly doze, keeping his body as a shield between din and the door. he knows fennec won’t disturb them, will keep the others out, but he knows well that feeling safe and  _ knowing it _ are two different things. 


	2. Chapter 2

din sleeps for hours. 

boba sits on the bench carved into the side of his berth, keeping an eye on din as he cleans his armour. the younger man is curled up on the bunk, pressed against the wall and wrapped in one of the softer blankets that boba owns. he looks young when he sleeps; he’s too kriffing thin and radiates heat from a low fever that has boba concerned. 

pauldrons clean, boba places them and the polishing cloth on the bench next to him. boba stands, his bad knee twinging slightly as he stretches to reach the wall storage compartment above him. pushing at the latch, he opens the compartment and starts unpacking the spare blankets and cushions he keeps for building his den. he’s not sure if din will want to nest, isn’t sure what he had on his ship before it blew up or whether din allowed himself to nest with how desperately he clung to his alpha-guise, but he can offer the dalab what he has. 

he lays the bright patterned blanket over din, tucking it around him. he piles the spare cushions at the foot of the bed for din to reach when he wakes, before settling back on the bench to tend to din’s beskar helmet. he hums under his breath, scrubbing at a rough patch with the cleaning cloth. 

din wakes up screaming —

> _he’s seven, sobbing over the kid’s limp body, tiny manacles around emaciated wrists. the scent of burning flesh follows him as he picks through the wreckage of the_ razor crest _, screaming for parents whose faces he barely remembers. the kid touches his face with gentle fingertips before being struck down by the darksaber. din’s always too little too late, never enough_ —

boba drops the helmet and cleaning cloth, crossing the room in a couple of steps. “din— hey, din—” the man’s scent shifts, and din jerks up, barely making it to the side of the berth before he vomits, coughing up what little was left in his stomach over himself and the floor, barely missing boba. bile covers his kute, and he sobs, gasping for breath. the low light of the berth feels too bright for his eyes without his helmet filtering out most of the sensory information. boba tries to touch his arm, and he pulls away, keening, stumbling out of the berth and barely making it to the small fresher attached to the bunk before he vomits again. his hair is damp and plastered to his forehead, and he clutches the sink for support, his knuckles gone white. everything comes rushing back to him—his _ad,_ the _jetti_ , the feeling of grogu’s tiny hand on his face that burns like a brand. he struggles to breathe, the _shame shame shame_ spiralling out of control. 

“udesii,” boba murmurs, catching din’s wild gaze in the mirror. “udesii—” din whirls around, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. his eyes flick between boba and the door and the bed like a skittish tooka. “let’s get you cleaned up,” boba says slowly, his voice low and rumbling. 

din swallows and winces, his throat raw as he whispers. “...gedet’ye.” he’s not sure what he’s begging for, but he flinches as soon as the word leaves his mouth, averting his eyes so he doesn’t see the _rejection disappointment_ he expects to find on boba’s face. din’s shaking uncontrollably now, and he slowly collapses, sitting in the fresher doorway. he hears boba say something, but it takes a few moments for him to process anything—

_“elek, ad’ika. jate._ ”

boba steps around din, running a rag under water from the sink and wringing it out before he passes it to din so he can wipe his mouth. din exchanges it for a set of casual clothes that boba hands him before the man turns around to give him some semblance of privacy, mopping up din’s vomit from the floor. hands trembling, din shuffles out of his stained kute and gets dressed. the pants are too short and the shirt hangs off his frame, sleeves covering his hands, but they are soft and comfortable against din’s oversensitive skin. he shivers, suddenly overcome with a chill, the floor cold against his bare feet. he’s hyper aware that these are boba’s own sleep clothes, boba’s berth, that this is just more proof of the burden he has become. 

din stares at his reflection in the fresher mirror and his reflection stares back. he traces the scars where he burned his neck years ago, the skin sensitive and numb in patches. din hasn’t spent a lot of time looking at mirrors since he took the creed. when he put on the helmet, it felt like a betrayal of it to spend much time bare-faced, and after he presented _late_ it was a blessing to stay hidden, assumed alpha _safe safe beroya_. it feels strange to see his face in the light. 

there’s movement behind him, and din whirls around, only to find boba standing behind him, hands raised in a placating gesture. 

“don’t touch me—i can’t, _don’t touch me_.” din whispers, voice cracking.

“okay,” boba backs away from the door, giving din room to climb back onto the berth. din’s so tired, exhaustion weighing heavy on him, he watches through half-closed eyes as boba moves like caring for him was the easiest thing in the world, as if din wasn’t the burden he knew himself to be. 

“rest,” boba mutters, turning the light down low. the older man settles down on the floor, blaster rifle in hand. 

* * *

din wakes up slowly, surrounded by the warm comforting scent of _safe alpha safe_. he’s still so tired, a chill settled deep in his bones and an exhaustion that weighs heavily on him. he burrows further under the blankets, his face pressed against a pillow, soft fabric against his skin. when he eventually drags his aching body out of bed, he’s alone in the berth. 

his armor is stored neatly under the bed next to boba’s, and din stares at his reflection in the helmets. his armor feels like it belongs to someone else, but he’s not sure who that is anymore. din doesn’t put his helmet back on, leaves it under the bed. he can still feel the echoes of the kid’s fingertips on his skin like a brand, and the _grief shame shame_ in his bones won’t let him take back his identity. he slaps the last of his suppressant patches, the rest lost in the destruction of the _razor crest,_ and pulls on his boots. he's dizzy, but he stumbles out of the bunk and down the ladder. 

  
he’s lost in a haze of grief and numbness; clanless, childless, cast out by the creed he’s lived by for so long. he drifts like a ghost on board the _slave i,_ feverish and barely conscious for more than an hour at a time. both boba and fennec find him asleep in weird places—boba still doesn't know how din made it into the open wall storage unit, curled up with a small metal ball gripped tightly in his hand. 


End file.
